


well adjusted, in theory

by IsleofSolitude



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Crowley Has Chronic Pain (Good Omens), M/M, Multi, Strong Aziraphale
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-16
Updated: 2020-06-16
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:14:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24757594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IsleofSolitude/pseuds/IsleofSolitude
Summary: on a whim, Crowley decides to visit the chiropractor.Despite going in with no expectations, Dr. Fell is more than he ever imagined.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 60
Kudos: 207
Collections: Good AUmens AU Fest





	well adjusted, in theory

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Go Event Server Gaumens event.
> 
> This was conceived in a different server. So much love to AmyPound and AnnatheHank for brainstorming, encouraging, and calming me down.

“You need to go see the southern pansy.”

Anthony J. Crowley didn’t even blink as he finished getting out of his car. This was not the weirdest greeting Shadwell had offered him in their year of working together. Giving a brief nod to the older man, he left him smoking his cigarette and crossed the small road to get inside the pizza joint to start his shift.

The transition from smoky, trash adjacent London air to the doughy, hot, oddly moist feel of Right Slice Pizza had long lost it’s ability to trip him up, and he swiped his badge on the free computer. There were no deliveries onscreen, so he went to check on dishes and prep. Monday usually didn’t have much in terms of workload, hence why he and Shadwell were the only drivers. Adam, the manager, was refilling the cook station, and Wendsleydale was folding boxes near the phones.

There were some dishes soaking, so Crowley got those first, scrubbing the nasty baked on crud off and then putting them in the sanitizing sink. The feel of old wet dough squishing under his nails was awful, but gloves just added another layer of nail squishing so he grimaced and tried to ignore it, letting his mind replay the newest song from the Struts.

Prep wasn’t that bad, he just had to bag some twenty odd wing orders. What was a complete bitch was fighting with the sauce containers. His hips were not cooperating today, and he was wincing and biting his lip each time he had to lift a completely full one and wrangle it in place in the walk in. Usually he was better with timing the door’s slow progression of closure, but today it caught him right in the side and he nearly yelped.

He had almost completed all his side work before the first delivery even came. He grinned when he saw the address– Almost out of the delivery zone, which guaranteed a long drive with just his music for company. Plus, this was a regular known to tip well.

His left leg was stiffening even as he pulled out of the parking lot, and Crowley shifted in his seat until it it was rather comfortable. The song bursting out of the speakers was one of his favorites, so he turned it up even more and tapped his fingers along with it as he merged into the road.

As far as second jobs go, he could do worse than pizza delivery. Flexible schedule, easy enough work, limited contact with people, free food– it worked out well. Since his full time job was so grueling, it was especially nice– not that he would ever admit it to any. He had an image to uphold, of course.

The rest of his shift progressed in a similar pattern, and soon it was almost quitting time. Soon as he finished cutting this pizza, he could box it up and clock out. Sliding the pizza peel under the thin crust coming out of the oven, he twisted to lay it on the cut table. Instantly, a flash of pain roared up.

“Shit!” Crowley couldn’t help the curse, as he struggled to keep the pizza off the floor. He dumped it roughly onto the cutting board and steadied himself, trying to breathe through the pain and regroup.

“Are you okay?”

“Crowley!”

Shadwell’s voice was almost lost under the other voices. “I said it, didn’t I?”

Crowley waved off Adam’s concern. “I’m good just…can you finish this?”

“Yeah, go ahead and clock out.”

Nodding, Crowley limped over to the computer and slid his badge through the reader, long fingers working through the touch screen options until he was officially done for the week. Gritting his teeth, he straightened up and adopted his signature saunter as he left.

He nearly fell flat on his feet as Shadwell’s grimy hand– wow he had really symmetrical nails– shoved it’s way into his face. The corner of whatever Shadwell had in his hand almost poked Crowley in the eye. “What the…?”

“Go see the southern pansy.” An emphatic wave of the– business card?– had Crowley trying not to recoil as he dodged it.

“The who?”

“Some sort of chiro quack.”

“…..The southern pansy is a duck?” Crowley was sure he had lost the thread of this conversation about five hours ago.

Shadwell grunted. “No, he’s a doctor. Quack doctor, some sort of chiropractor.” The disgust and disbelief in Shadwell’s voice was palpable.

“….What.”

Shadwell was definitely trying to avoid his eyes while his cheeks pinked. “My landlady dragged me to him. She’s into all this rubbish.” One grimy hand rubbed the back of his neck. “But he did actually help with some pain, so.” He waved the card again. “Go see him.”

Crowley was oddly touched. “Thanks.”

“Shaddup. Now get out of here unless you want to swap and close.”

“You wish, lazy bum.” Crowley grinned, stuck the card in his back pocket, and promptly forgot about it.

* * *

It was six months later that Crowley found the card again, in a pile of random papers he swore he would find the energy to look through another day (yet he had been adding to for over a year at this point).

The card was simple, merely “A.Z. Fell Adjustments” on one side. The other side featured contact informations, location, and “suggested” hours.

“Suggested hours” is what had Crowley raising an eyebrow, intrigued against his will. Card tapping against his thigh, he leaned over and grabbed his phone from the bed and dialed the number.

It wasn’t the usual ringtone, instead some weird tune that was both upbeat and haunting in the best way. Though Crowley was still trying to withhold judgement, he was impressed.

“A.Z. Fell Adjustments. How can we assist you today?” The voice that answered was soothing, perky, and inviting– the perfect phone hospitality voice.

It also threw him off guard, for some inexplicable reason. “Er, I was…referred to this place? Wanted to know how to make an appointment?” He cleared his throat. “You are accepting new patients, yeah?”

“Oh, of course we are, love. New patients are Dr. Fell’s specialty.” Crowley wasn’t given time to process that sentence, before she continued on. “We do require an X-ray taken and sent over prior to your first appointment, do you have a moment to take down the location information?”

“Uh, yeah just give me..give me a mo.” Using one of the other scraps of outdated papers littered around the floor, Crowley shuffled around until he found a pen. “Okay.”

The receptionist rattled off a string of information. “Once that’s sent over, we can schedule you for a consult and introductory appointment. If you would like, we can touch base with the clinic on your behalf to make it easier for you.”

“Yeah, uh yeah that sounds good.”

“Great! Let me get some information real fast from you.”

Ten minutes and lots of identifiable information later, Crowley had an appointment later in the week for both x-rays and a chiropractor consult.

“Well, that was a thing.” He murmured, looking at his phone. He had a feeling that if the receptionist ever had him in a room alone, they would be able to get all his deepest, darkest secrets out of him with ease. Probably while giving him biscuits and a sympathetic smile.

Maybe he should cancel… 

* * *

A.Z. Fell Adjustments was located in a corner building, with large windows and an authentic vintage vibe. Crowley liked it immediately.

Stepping through the doors was an experience. If clutter and minimalism had a baby, it would be this place. There were bookshelves crammed full of titles, and some of the higher ones had a layer of dust. The front desk, to the left of the door, was full of crystals, more books, little knickknacks, and yet the lower part where it said to sign in showed a tidy arrangement of papers, pens, and other office supplies. The front room had wingback chairs interpersed between the bookcases. A long, well lit hallway was flanked with yellow curtains tied to the wall with a white ribbon.

A redhaired woman puttering behind the desk looked up at the door chime and smiled. “Ah, hello dearie! Welcome! How can we assist you today?”

So this was the receptionist. Her warm voice drew him closer. The stubborn part of him wanted to growl at her just to make a point, but she was so _welcoming_ that he found his shoulders relaxing as he strolled closer. “Uh, yeah, I have an appointment? Anthony Crowley.”

She beamed at him. “Ah, yes! Let’s get you signed him. Dr. Fell is running on schedule today, thankfully.”

As he filled out the forms, he asked “Is he usually running behind, then?”

“Oh, no, but some patients are in need of a bit more personal attention, and the doc is such a soft touch he can’t help but indulging them, the dear man.”

The cynical part of Crowley’s mind wondered if this was meant to be naughty or if everything this woman said had a touch of innuendo in the tone. “So…he lets people walk all over him?”

She laughed and leaned in. “Oh, no. He’s only a sweetheart when they need it. If someone is wasting his time, he can be rather wrathful.” There was a delighted twinkle in her eye that spoke of at least one instance being remembered.

“Hm.” He handed her the clipboard back. “Sounds like a fun fellow.”

Her eyes skimmed the sheet to make sure he had filled it out correctly. “Ooooh, you know Shadwell?”

“Yeah, worked with him until about a few months ago.”

“He’s such a lovely soul, isn’t he?”

Crowley didn’t know what to say to that. Asking if they were talking about the same Shadwell would be rude. “Um. Sure.”

Thankfully, she didn’t notice or comment. “Have a seat and relax, I’ll let Dr. Fell know you’re here.”

Too wound up to sit, Crowley instead browsed the books. The genres were a mishmash. Nonfiction included various religious books, nutrition and self help titles, some biographies and auto biographies, anthologies, and some historical collections. The fiction books ranged from coming of age, mysteries, slice of life, young adult, and some manga. Crowley stopped and stared down at a very clear kid section, ranging from toddler to middle school selections, as well as soft toys and rattles. Unlike some of the books, this section was meticulously clean and arranged in such a way that only those of the right reading level could reach the intended books.

The wall in this area boasted lots of scribbly drawings. Most of them featured a red haired and a yellow haired stick figure, and some had a scratchy “thank you” on them. There were also the usual little kid drawing subjects: dinosaurs, family members, deconstructed landscapes, unidentifiable shapes.

“Mr. Crowley?”

Crowley turned and there was the good doctor himself. Having a chance to look around, Crowley still wasn’t prepared for the sight of him. Soft blond curls, some shade between yellow and platinum. Clear, bright blue eyes that Crowley’s brain refused to categorize because he needed another thousand years of observation to do so. Laugh lines in all the right places. Soft, all over, from the curls to the brown shoes that had seen better days. The suit he wore looked soft, the expression on his face was soft, the hands he clasped over his soft belly were soft.

Crowley wanted nothing more than to sink into it and nap.

“Er, yeah. Hi.”

Dr. Fell beamed at him. Bloody hell, did everyone who worked here have a ten thousand watt smile or what? Was that just an effect of chiropractic care? “Please follow me.”

Crowley fell into step behind him. The doctor indicated the doors they passed. All the doors on the left were shut, and he identified them as the kitchen, loo, and storage area. To the right, the first two doors had been removed and were identified as the physical therapy room and the adjustment room. The third room had a door propped open, and that was the break room. At the end of the hallway were two more doors. Dr. Fell opened the door on the left and gestured Crowley to go in. “My office. Welcome.”

The desk was the only thing cluttered in here, to the extent that Crowley wondered if the man actually used it for his work. There was another wingback chair across from the desk, and something that looked like a massage table with different sections and handles sticking out. Aziraphale settled into the chair behind the desk.

“So, according to your paperwork, you’ve never seen a chiropractor before?”

Crowley shook his head.

Dr. Fell gave a kind smile– did he do anything but?– and nodded. “Thank you for trusting me with your experience, then! So, the process is quite simple, really. I’ll explain that all soon, but first, why don’t you tell me what made you call us?”

Oh. Not so simple, asking a question like that. Crowley shrugged. How to explain working long hours until he physically couldn’t get out of bed and having to deal with the fall out of that? "Got told about you awhile back, forgot about it, found the card recently. Seemed like the right time, now that I have some free time.

“Oh, lovely. I’m glad you did call. Before we start, we should talk a bit about your expectations for treatment.”

What? “I…have none. Bit out of my element, honestly.” Well, this was going down like a lead balloon. Crowley felt like he had just failed his midterms again.

“That’s okay! Most of my patients usually have a few different goals for what they expect. It usually comes down to pain management, improved mobility– or stamina or balance– or an overall improved quality of life. A few want to prolong their needs for surgery, or improve their surgical outcomes. Some have specific pain areas– arthritis, busted knees, bad posture.”

Crowley was only about sixty-nine percent sure that wasn’t a dig at how he was sitting.

Without pausing, the man continued. “Some want to get ahead of their problems, some are aware of having a problem, and some are tired of the problem and ready for a change. Does that makes sense?” Crowley nodded along, thinking. “Some people use only natural care, such as chiropractic adjustments and therapy techniques, other combine them with more modern treatments. And then there are a few who just make it up as they go.” This time Dr. Fell gave him a teasing smile.

Crowley felt an answering grin trying to rise up, and he managed to smother it down into a cheeky smirk. “Yeah, sure, let’s go with that.”

“Excellent! In that case, would you mind standing up and doing a few things for me?”

Over the next several minutes, Crowley– feeling as ridiculous as he ever had– followed instructions to rotate his arms, lean, stretch, bend, and stand in various poses as Aziraphale made notes.

“Thank you, Mr. Crowley. Well done. Please, have a seat on the table.”

Crowley looked at the desk and then back at the doctor, unsure if there was even room to do that.

Huffing out a laugh, Dr. Fell stood and walked to the massage table. “This table, Mr. Crowley. This is a chiropractic table, one of the most essential tools in our business.”

“Oh.” Crowley sat, making sure it looked as cool as possible. He could sit smooth. Small victories, that was his life.

“Now then, how long have your hips been paining you?”

Crowley knew he hadn’t written that down anywhere. How did they know? Did Shadwell say something? Did the old coot even know?

His alarm must have shown on his face because the doctor just smiled. “In the x-rays, your hips are practically see through, compared to a normal hip, and that’s a sign of arthritis. The flexibility and movement exercises you just did confirmed it, and the fact that you must have taken a really hard fall in early childhood, correct? That’s why your shoulders are so stiff and your neck often tightens up.”

“Fuck you’re good.” The words escaped before he could even think about it.

“Thank you, I do try to be.” Dr. Fell stood. “If you’re amenable, we can move onto the adjustment part of the appointment. It’s called the Thompson Technique. I will use the table to do some low impact work on you. It will involve some hands on pressure and will last approximately four or five minutes depending on how many adjustments we do.”

Crowley blinked. “Um, sure.”

“Now, if you could please lay face down and put your hands on the little rests there. Yes, just like that.” Dr. Fell walked over to the end of the table and gently rested his hands on Crowley’s ankles. “I will start every session in this position, and bend your legs like so in order to judge the best adjustments for the day.” Crowley felt his knees bend, feet hovering above his arse. “Ah, I see.” He gently lowered Crowley’s legs back to the table. “Are you ready?”

“Yeah.”

Soft hands came to rest behind his shoulder blades, pressing down gently. One hand left, and then Crowley felt part of the table shift, and him with it. The hand returned, crossed over the other one.“Here we go. Take a deep breath for me, then let it out.” Strong hands pressed down, the table jolted, and the crack was loud in Crowley’s ear.

The sensation should have hurt, but it didn’t– it was like when you changed altitude and you could hear again. Something slotted into place, and the rest of the area just went _oh_. A stillness where there was chaos.

Dr. Fell kept moving. His hands move lower on Crowley’s back, the table shifted again, and another crack rang out. He did it twice more, the last one right above Crowley’s hips. “If you would be so kind as to roll over for me.”

 _I’ll do all that and more_ was the only thing Crowley’s brain could process as he shifted, letting one of Dr. Fell’s strong hands to ease himself over. Pudgy fingers stroked his hair out of his way, cradling Crowley’s useless skull and raising it slightly above the headrest. “Just relax. There we go. Breathe in, breathe out.”

Crowley closed his eyes, letting the voice guide him, let his body go lax and put all his weight into those hands. There was a quick motion, his head turned, and the cracking sounds were even louder. Crowley had never felt so loose. His head was angled in the other direction, there was a second motion, and then he was being lowered down. It felt like floating.

“How do you feel?” Dr. Fell’s voice was as though he was underwater, and Crowley took a long moment to think his answer through.

“I…” How did he feel? “It feels…weird. Like. Good weird. Not used to this.” He opened his eyes, sure he sounded stupid but Dr. Fell was smiling at him as though he had just won Jeopardy.

“Excellent! Most people who deal with pain as long as you say the same thing.” He reached out and helped Crowley sit up. “So, would you like to become a patient?”

Blue eyes were unfairly close, and even though they weren’t touching, Crowley’s hand was still sparking. “You can make me pop anytime,” Crowley blurted out.

Aziraphale blinked at him. “Let’s start with twice a week sessions.” He went back to his desk and jotted something down on a paper, which he held out to Crowley. “Miss Tracey can discuss your scheduling at the front desk, let’s just toddle on up there. I look forward to working with you.”

Taking the paper, Crowley mumbled something like a pleasantry as he was escorted back to the cluttered desk and transferred to the sly receptionist, where Dr. Fell greeted another client and showed them back.

Miss Tracey leaned in. “Isn’t he just wonderful?”

“Like an angel.” Crowley agreed, not even caring that his reputation was completely ruined.


End file.
